Road to the Stars
by Catheryne
Summary: Fifteen minutes and they would have been off to happy ever after, away from the destruction below. But he was the Green Arrow and she was always going to be his Watchtower, and he knew it would have been impossible.
1. Chapter 1

**Road to the Stars**

AN: I do not exist in the Chlollie world yet. In fact, it's probably been half a decade since I turned off SV when my Chlex (as you will see in my list of fanfics) dreams were completely trampled on. I tried to go back to ficcing SV when Chlavis came on, but it was so shortlived it did not sustain my return. I had no plans of being immersed in SV again until I saw Roulette. And then after Absolute Justice and Warrior I knew this was going somewhere. Here's to hoping—This begins with Salvation.

**Part 1**

"_He's not going to leave you. With you he has a purpose." – Tess to Chloe, Sacrifice_

She shrugged on the green leather and tugged at the zip. Once. Twice. It would not budge halfway up. Her brows furrowed, and she glanced up at him. He could see the frustration in her eyes. The jacket suited her like she was meant to be encased in green leather all her life, but even that enjoyable thought warred with what he felt.

But the crotchety old man with the mace had called him out once before for being an idiot, for never expressing what he felt. And he had been an idiot these past months by going along with what she wanted—mainly because of fear, because he was safer this way when he thought he was not exposed.

But Oliver knew the time had come. Outside, in the darkness that had cloaked them so long, they gathered. In the evening all of them were on an even playing field. But slowly, slowly, the sun would inch its way across the sky. And with its first ray would explode the reddest sky.

"God, I wish you and I can stay in bed," he murmured, even as he reached for the edges of her jacket, always willing to lend a hand.

"That's a lie if I ever heard one," she commented flippantly.

She knew him like the back of her hand, knew him better than any one of the other women whom at their own time he thought were the love of his life. And he did not need to tell her that. Most likely she already knew it.

"Zip me up," she said.

His fingers tightened around the zipped. It would give easily with his pull, but he found himself reluctant. "I'd be digging your grave," he whispered.

Today was the day that they had prepared for, the day he feared since he found out what would happen in the future. He was not that man, whose sole mission was the safety of humanity. That man, that noble man, was a lonely man. The night he knew what her lips felt like under his was the day he became a coward.

"Ollie," she said, her voice gentling, "keeping me from wearing my jacket won't keep me from being out there, fighting with you."

"I know," he responded softly.

"It just means I'm going to be that much colder doing it," she finished, and Oliver recognized the forced levity when he heard it.

Cold. The way a body felt when—

His fingers gripped the zip and he closed the jacket over the muted pattern of her blouse.

"Thank you," she said, knowing how much it took from him. She smiled up, in an effort to coax his own smile.

"You know I'll never let you get cold."

"You like it hot," she pointed out.

And even in the somber situation his mind drifted to the night before, the one that could be the last, when he laid out in the steaming bathwater and sighed when she, biting her lower lip in that way when she wanted to stop – feeling it all – when she tried to contain the smile or the tears, he did not know, sank into the tub and reached for him.

With a flex of his hips he found himself buried inside of her while she gripped the sides of the tub and threw her head back.

If it was going to be their last night, it certainly felt like a night to remember. It burned—the water and the muscles that clamped around him when he came.

"It burns," she gasped into his ear, and he felt her hot lips plaster against his cheek when she stifled her scream when she came.

They had stumbled from the tub to the bed, and he drove into her body with sheer determination. He made love to her like he was branding her, writing his name inside her body so that he would be part of her forever. If he was going to die that day, when the Kandorians created hell on earth, she would remember him.

He collapsed on top of her, and moments later he rolled off and lay on his back. He felt her hand reach for his stomach, pulling gently so he would be closer.

"I didn't want to crush you," he told her. "If I didn't get off you we wouldn't need the Kandorians and their superpowers. I'd have killed you by asphyxiation."

She pulled herself up on her elbow and opened her mouth. He waited. The look in her eyes then—

"Ollie."

It seemed like his waiting would not be futile. Seemed almost like pretending all this time that he was on the same page that she was, would all turn out well in the end. And this was the end if there ever was an end.

"Chloe," he prompted.

And part of his heart splintered when she broke into a sad smile, then shook her head. "Nothing," she replied. "I was just…" Her eyes flickered to the healing scar on his chest, still angry, mottled skin. And she did not continue, told him nothing that he wanted to hear in words. But then she lowered her head and Oliver sucked in his breath when he felt her soft, moist lips over the scars. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were teary.

"Hey." He cupped her cheek. His thumb flicked away the threatening tear. "It's okay. All wounds heal, remember? They're just scars."

She nodded. Chloe took a deep breath. When she had calmed, just a little, she laid down her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to say something stupid," she said as preamble.

"There's nothing stupid. Not on this bed."

"I wish," she told him hesitantly, "that we can stand up right now and open that closet. I wish we can take your green leather and toss it into the fire," she admitted.

"Chloe—"

"I wish we can bury the Green Arrow like I destroyed the Watchtower." Her voice broke, and she gasped for air.

"You wish we could be Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan, and forget about this—move away from Kansas and the Kandorians and live like we don't have a costumed past behind us."

"It can happen," she said weakly.

He turned his head and buried his lips in her hair. "At least you prefaced it the way you did."

"I knew it was a stupid thing to say."

"It was a beautiful thought," he corrected her. "And entirely possible—if you weren't you and I wasn't who I am—and if the Kandorians weren't set to take over the whole world, not just take Metropolis for their own."

"If I knew we wouldn't hate ourselves eventually, I would do it—run away from this, Ollie."

And maybe that night she did not say what he was waiting for her to say, but knowing she considered leaving this behind for him as close as he could ever have hoped.

He liked it hot, he thought in agreement. Hot like her kisses. Hot like the tears that fell against his skin when she thought him asleep and she let herself go.

And so hours before morning when he woke to almost ready, he acquiesced and helped her into her jacket. She needed to know, if this was the last night—needed to know it from him too.

"I can have the plane ready in fifteen minutes," he broke in as she tossed the green leather costume on the sheets. She looked up in surprise. "If you say the word, we can hop in and leave Metropolis. It would be years before the Kandorians would need the rest of the world, Chloe. We can move every time."

"Get chased all over the world by alien invaders?" she asked. He nodded, gritting his teeth. "Be cowards."

"Be together," he pressed.

For a heartbeat, for two, he saw it in her eyes. A little hope, a little defeat. "But you're the Green Arrow and I'm—well—I'm me."

He nodded curtly, and he took the costume. Quietly, he dressed up and put on his hood. Finally, she handed him the dark shades and he slipped them on. She bit her lip again as she stared up at him. In her eyes, he saw himself reflected, watery, but so clear. "I want you to know—"

"What?" she whispered.

"When you saved me, you had me—both the hero and the man."

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"And I waited for a way in. Not all of us can bring a torch and ram their way in and through other people's walls like you can, Watchtower."

He saw a ray of sunshine reflected in her eyes, and the dread once again came full force. It was the day.

She closed her eyes. She lowered her head in front of him. His heart ached for her, because he already knew and she could not bring herself to say the words. The wounds were deeper than either of them thought if on this day, when it was so apparent to everyone else, she still could not admit it.

"It's alright," he said gently. He had convinced himself long ago that he could live without ever hearing the worlds. But now he could almost hear the march of alien soldiers, almost feel the shackles around his ankles and his neck, almost feel the same agonizing beam scorching his chest. And he realized no matter how long he could live without the words, he could not die without them.

She lifted her head and she faced him.

"I'm going to open your gift," she told him. He was confused for a moment, so he allowed her to continue. "I am," she repeated. "There are days in the Watchtower when my heart would just ache when I remember that Jimmy gave it to me. There are days when I hate my eyes because they were my mother's. They had my heart and they left me. I didn't want to have something from you to cry over when you eventually left."

And finally, the little beribboned box still sitting in the drawer made all the sense in the world. He turned and opened the drawer where she had left it, then handed it to her. Her hands trembled as she tore the paper.

"Suddenly I wish I got you something better than a spoon," he told her.

But she shook her head and laughed, tracing with her thumb the handle of the spoon, where there was an etched design of the McDougal crest.

He closed his hand over hers, firmly. "I'm not going to leave you," he swore. "Not willingly." He took a deep breath. "That spoon is not a remembrance—if it were it's a damned pathetic one. I think I have enough to get you way better gifts now that we're over the fact that they're banned. We are over it, right?"

"We are. But it still doesn't mean you're required to give me anything."

"I haven't been required to do anything this entire relationship," he tested, checking to see if she would flinch at the heavy word. She did not. "But I've done them, because I thought they might make you happy." The sky outside was pink hued, almost red. He could see it in her eyes. And he knew better than to ask her again to stay away. "Promise me you'll be careful out there."

"Promise you won't leave," she asked, her voice a little quiet, a little insecure.

But she said it, voicing out the fear that before she would not have mentioned. It was a measure of success. He nodded. He heard the loud noise of an abrupt wind, then two. He saw them from her eyes, so he turned around. He opened the balcony doors in his full green costume. Clark stood in his black trenchcoat, his arms folded across his chest. With a large grin, and his hair falling over his eyes, stood Bart.

"Victor, AC and Dinah are on their way," Bart said, "slow as turtles as always."

"Not everyone has superspeed like you, Impulse," Chloe piped in. Oliver turned, and his gaze softened when he saw her handing over his bow.

"Too bad the boss is faster than me," Bart said with a wink, confirming that he already knew of the development between the two.

Clark nodded. He nodded, and Oliver realized he had been listening for the rest of the team. "They're ready," he said. "Today we fight the greatest fight of our lives." He looked Oliver in the eye. "Tell me we'll win this."

The doubt was real in Clark's eyes. Then again, Oliver knew Clark probably saw the same in him. After all, he had voiced that weak part of him last night—the weak part that offered to run away. "We'll win this, Clark," he answered.

"We'll meet at the rendezvous point in ten minutes," Clark said, and was gone in a blur.

With another gust of wind, Bart was gone as well. Chloe turned to pick up the steel briefcase that housed the powerful computer that was going to be the eyes and ears on location. Even playing the Watchtower without a tower, Oliver was not going to leave Chloe far away without support on hand. Not after Checkmate. All of them could be busy fighting, but one suspicious sound from her and he would turn his back on an armed enemy if he would have that much more chance of coming to her aid.

He suspected it made him a weak link.

He walked behind her as they made their way to the armed van where Watchtower operations would happen. The bullet-proof glass and steel contraption was in parts encased in lead, automatically powered to release at the push of a button, and reveal a kryptonite coating to deter the Kandorians.

Suffice it to say that Clark Kent was not going to come close to the van. It was a disadvantage, but one the entire team agreed would be the safest route if they needed to take Chloe into battle. Even if they had not agreed, Oliver would have done it either way. Even before he received the agreement the vehicle had been manufactured and ready to go.

He rode full speed on his bike while Victor drove the van, with Chloe in the back revving up the hardware. Her voice came into the earpiece, calling each of their code names. Oliver smiled when each one responded. Even in the dire circumstance, he was proud at the thought that Chloe had managed to get the team back together.

"All heroes are accounted for," Chloe said into the communicator. "The sky is a sickly shade of pink, and we can't accept the rule of a tyrant—much less an alien one. Good luck, guys. Stay safe."

Oliver licked his lips. Over the horizon he saw the small mob walk towards where Clark stood alone. Canary swooped down and crouched beside Clark. Impulse and AC zipped to the side of the mob, prepared with the arsenal that Chloe had painstakingly collected over the months. Victor, he knew, had already left Chloe in a safe location still close to the battleground. By now, Victor would be arming himself with the kryptonite weapons.

Impulse zipped right in front of the leader, then took the gun from his belt. Zod's eyes grew red. Within the blink of an eye, Impulse was gone, standing now in front of the blue warehouse that Oliver strategically ensured Impulse would go. Zod's eyes shot with a flaming beam, the one that had seared his flesh. Oliver winced.

The large metal lock that had been located behind Bart exploded, throwing open the lead doors. Within moments the Kandorians fell onto their knees at the initial exposure.

"It's show time!" Bart cried out in glee.

Oliver drew an arrow and prepared to strike. "Green Arrow," she said, in the precise moment the zip line embedded in the utility post. He flew through and prepared to drop into the melee that resulted.

"Watchtower," he replied, abhorring the fact that the voice she would hear was from the distorter.

"I love you," came her voice.

He broke into a huge grin. He dropped from the zip line and into the row of alien soldiers far enough away from the warehouse that they were only mildly affected by the meteor rocks. He raised an arm to fend off an attacker. Oliver gripped the man's throat and squeezed. "Finally." He laughed softly as his attacker struggled, and called out, "I love you too." The alien's struggled grew lighter in his confusion until he went unconscious. Oliver dropped him.

He felt the blunt force hit him between the shoulders. Oliver fell onto his hands and knees. He turned and saw Clark writhing on the ground. In the battle plan, the warehouse had been far enough away from Clark. He had discounted the fact that the grief-stricken madman that Zod had become would be strong enough and insane enough to drag Clark towards a place that would incapacitate both of them.

Zod, twisting in agony, seemed to celebrate the pain on Clark's face even at the cost of his own pain.

Oliver struggled with the soldier that fell him, trying to keep his fistfight grunt to a minimum so he would not worry Chloe. The rest of the team were embroiled in their respective fights now, with Victor leading the way towards unloading most of the kryptonite ammunition. He needed to get to Clark and take him some distance away, to the other side of the field.

Oliver threw off his enemy and ran towards Clark. He stumbled to Clark's side. "Your hands won't burn," he told Clark. "Use them." Then he shot a zipline arrow towards the other side. He lifted Clark up on his shoulders and set Clark's hands on the zip.

"I'll need a push," Clark said.

Oliver gave as much force as he could, and nodded in satisfaction as halfway down the line Clark appeared to recover. Oliver turned, and was surprised to see Zod on his feet. He glanced towards the warehouse, and saw without surprise the dozen bodies of Kandorians at the foot of the door, willingly sacrificing their lives to remove the threat to their leader.

"Zod," he said, instantly regretting it when he heard Watchtower gasp in his ear.

The Kandorian leader seemed to grow before his eyes, but Oliver knew it was his own fear and trauma building upon each other as Zod raised his hands. His scars twitched.

At least, he thought, he heard the words. She'd said them. The satisfaction faded when he realized he would have preferred to have seen the look on her face when she did.

So this was love. And he wasn't ever going to be satisfied. There always needed to be more. And for once he was envious of grumpy old Carter Hall who was pretty much assured that there was going to be more every time.

What he had was this lifetime.

And he hadn't gotten nearly enough.

When fire burst from Zod's eyes, Oliver dropped to the side. An agonized scream burst from his mouth when the alien seared the flesh from his arm.

"Ollie!" he heard her voice from the other end. And then, her Watchtower persona kicked in again—ever the consummate professional. "Impulse, Cyborg, you are nearest Green Arrow's location. Green Arrow needs your assistance. Now," she said.

Oliver cradled the arm, and smelled the burnt flesh. His eyes grew black. He looked back at Zod, who drew closer to him. The names she had called were all fighting their way through the thick line of enemies.

"Canary," she said into the comm.. "Please."

"I can't," he heard Dinah grunt. "I have seven around me."

Oliver reached for his bow, which had fallen wayside. The injury on his arm caused a strangled moan from his throat. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut tightly, then fought through the waves of blinding pain as he grasped the bow and raised it.

There was no way he could fire an arrow quickly enough, let alone accurately, with the state of his arm.

"It's alright, Watchtower," he assured her cockily, if only to spare her the agony. "I've got this. Just—take care of the spoon."

"You're not leaving me now, Archer," she said into the comm., and he was strangely proud of the fact that every one could hear it. He had bent over for so long, being no one more than meaningless fun for long enough.

Almost made it okay that he was on the brink of getting fried.

Zod shook his head in amusement. He rubbed his fingers together, toying with him, prolonging the agony. Oliver's weakened arms raised the bow and arrow, his forehead drenched in sweat from fighting off the pain. Zod raised his hand. Oliver's heart stopped when he saw the figure running from afar, with her arms raised, and the kryptonite gun trained on Zod.

She got out of the friggin van. Millions of dollars in coated green protection—which he did not mind because Clark and he agreed that Chloe needed to be out of the line of fire—and she left the van.

He would be furious if he wasn't overwhelmingly thankful that at least, instead of Zod's smirk, that sight was the last thing he saw before he died.

Oliver did not know if Zod saw the change in him, or if his visor reflected her, or if he felt the kryptonite from that direction. To his horror, Zod turned towards Chloe.

He glanced towards Oliver. "What a magnificent feast you have brought us," claimed the Kandorian. "So many puny humans to kill, so little time."

"No. The fight is with me," Oliver cried out, willing the attention back on him.

"Oh your time will come. But what can you do? You're a bug already half squashed into the ground," Zod claimed, then stalked towards Chloe.

Oliver watched as his eyes began to glow.

"No. Zod's fight is with me," he heard Clark claim as his friend dove towards Zod the moment the fire beamedfrom his eyes.

Oliver rose to his feet, cradling the wounded arm. She was a crumpled form in the distance. "Watchtower," he said into the comm.. There was no response. "Watchtower, speak." The figure did not move. He whispered, "Chloe."

He stumbled towards her, and the distance was long, endless. He ran past Clark and Zod, caught in hand to hand combat once they knew power for power they equated the same. Impulse was the first to race towards her. Oliver struggled on his feet, and did not pause even when Bart dropped to his knees in front of Chloe. His heart stopped when Bart took her up in his arms and shook his head.

"It doesn't look good," Bart said in his strangled voice, the glee at the fight, the exhilaration of the chase gone. Glee sounded better over their earpieces.

Oliver wondered when his heart would beat again. So he demanded in a rasp, "Is she breathing?"

A pause. "Barely."

"Then it's a yes. It's a yes or a no over the comm., Bart," he said in a steely voice. Oliver wished he had Bart's speed now. Instead he limped towards her, waves of pain from his arm making coherent thought difficult. Useless.

They should have run away. Fifteen minutes and the jet would have been ready, and they would have been far from the destruction below. By now they could be sipping coffee midair, on their way to sipping wine in Chianti in Tuscany, or sharing a cake in Paris, or making love in an old Scottish castle.

Anywhere but here.

Zod's agonized scream washed over him. Clark, it seemed, had triumphed, and Oliver relished for a moment the impossible pain that Clark applied on the alien he had once considered a brother. Within the space of ten breaths Zod quieted, slipped into his own merciless death, sending the remaining soldiers scurrying away to prepare for another war—only anything else they launched would be far weaker without Faora or Zod. Oliver wished Clark had not killed Zod yet, would have wanted to hear the agonized screams each step he took towards Chloe.

A hand closer over his arm. Oliver paused. "Let me go."

"You're hurt, Oliver," Clark stated what he already knew. "Bad. Really bad." He glanced towards Chloe. Oliver was sure that Clark had heard it all from his earpiece as well. "We'll get you help."

Fifteen minutes, and this could have all been avoided. But he was the Green Arrow and she was always going to be his Watchtower, and he knew it would have been impossible.

"_What would I know about love—when all I know is it ends—in every one of my lives, past and present?" – Hawkman to Green Arrow, Absolute Justice_

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"_I can't expect him to know me like you do – the places you must have gone to, the depths you sunk to just to bring me back." – Oliver to Chloe, Roulette_

The blade dipped. His attention focused solely on the silver glint. A lean arm rose. The weapon thrust forward, and he dropped to his knees. He gasped for breath, his vision growing dark with exhaustion. Four days with barely an hour of sleep among them. He was growing sloppy, weak in his joints. The dark fingers of sleep crawled from his eyelids even as he rolled twice to avoid the stab of steel. He flinched when he heard it strike the ground.

"Rise up and fight like the man you barely are," growled the man hovering before him.

Oliver took a deep breath then raised an arm still tender but more cooperative now. He took an arrow from his quiver and turned the bow towards the masked fighter.

The Hawkman reached at his belt and took an iron morning star. Oliver watched the dull chain, and the iron ball of a sudden rolled up and hit the bottom of his bow, sending the weapon flying through the air.

"Jesus!" Oliver muttered.

The Hawkman smirked. "Weaponless," he said, "is as good as dead."

Oliver shook his head. The older man offered his hand, but Oliver pulled his battered body up by himself without the man's assistance. "Proud," Hawkman commented, pulling his mask off his head. "Proud when you have no right to be. You lost this spar, like you lost the last several ones we fought."

Oliver favored his healing arm. "I depend on a bow and an arrow. My arm isn't a hundred percent."

"You've had two months to recover," Carter Hall pointed out. "In my day men went into combat with their guts spilling out of their ripped stomachs."

Oliver pulled off his glasses and pushed back his hood. "Well it's not your day. I will be back in full form in a few months, when the muscles are fully healed."

"If you know you're still out of commission, why do you fight every night? Why are you patrolling? You're bound to get yourself killed. I didn't leave a group of promising kids to support a man with a death wish."

"I don't."

"Or more unforgivably, you can get a civilian killed—or one of your teammates."

He should not have asked the man to take time away from being the winged protector and teacher of the new members of the JSA family. But Oliver recognized the weakness in his fight that had stemmed from Zod's attack, and he knew he needed to train if he were to continue to fight the good fight. With the League completely on his case, he needed someone outside the team work with.

He did not need the same assessment from Clark or the other members. They had repeated the same message for so long.

"I won't kill a civilian," Oliver pointed out. He walked over to where his bow had landed, then took it up on his shoulder. "And these days, I fight alone."

"So much for the team, the family, that you wanted to create."

Oliver glanced towards the sky, where the darkened dome stood out against the night sky. He felt rather than saw when Hawkman stopped behind him.

"I understand—this need to fight, to kill, to shed some blood. Sometimes it's the only thing that can fill the emptiness," said Carter. "It's the reason I agreed to spar with you. I've felt that in the countless lifetimes I've spend on this planet."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. The destroyed building could be fixed. It would take money and time, but it would eventually be back to its former glory. He abhorred any similarity to the annihilated civilizations that Carter Hall came from. "We're not the same," Oliver gritted.

"We all have this darkness inside of us. Mine overcame me when I lost my wife." 

"Nothing is gone." Oliver shook his head. "Your tragedy isn't mine."

Carter smirked. "That's why you're patrolling, and fighting each night like there's not going to be tomorrow."

Oliver turned around and stared down at Carter. Impressive as he was with the wings unfolded behind him, as magnificent a fighter warrior as the Hawkman was, he was unimpressed with the logic. "Do you really think after a half dozen sessions where you beat an injured man, you've become an expert in him?"

"No. But having been exactly where you are—that makes me the expert, kid." Carter placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder, a gesture he had done for the first time. "The government, as much as I don't trust them, has a program that can help us—"

Oliver took the man's hand off. "No."

Carter knew quickly enough, or cared little enough, to immediately drop the topic. Oliver had heard of the mindwipe, and had wished desperately to have someone to speak with about the deep hatred he felt for it. No one had the right to that power. He would trade the memories for nothing—not even for respite from the cold empty pain in his chest.

He walked away from the rooftop where he trained with Hawkman. At the ledge, he looked down at the fall. He checked his phone and found it empty of warning or 911. He zipped down the roof and onto his waiting back and made his way to the old place.

Walking into the large room, with its scorched walls in dire need of cleaning and fresh paint, was a therapy unto itself. The sound of the computers and the whirring hard drivers, the steady hum of the new servers, were familiar. Oliver's senses were assailed by the brewing coffee to the side.

The young woman in front of the computer looked up at him with concern. He followed her line of sight and spotted the dark bruising around the healing arm. "Easy to fix," he said. "Where's Emil?"

Dinah sighed. Even in the time Canary had dedicated to take her turn on the watch, like each one of the members of the League, none of them had the same capacity to understand the intricacies of setting up the system as nearly as the doctor did.

"There was an emergency. He needed to go and called me here to sub," Dinah offered. He heard the annoyance in her voice. He had brushed over her concern as if it were invalid. He would have been pissed off if the same happened to him.

And he would have cared, if his attention did not immediately turn to his phone to check for messages. If Emil had an emergency that needed his attention, Oliver trusted the man enough that he would contact him. Finding it blank, he returned to Dinah.

"Where's the rest of the team?"

"Bart is in a robbery at St. James. AC is taking care of a smuggling ring at the port. Victor, jewelry heist. And Clark—"

The dark blur zipped to the room.

"Never mind," Oliver muttered.

Clark tossed a CD to the table. "You left your arrow at the rooftop of the Grant Bank. And here's the stored video of the Green Arrow in a fight with Hawkman. I've destroyed the server where the video loads."

"Thank you," was Oliver's simple answer, one that he could see infuriated Clark.

"You're not being careful, Ollie," Clark stated, underlining the bold statement from earlier in repetitive, redundant, irritating nag that would have put Lois Lane at the peak of their relationship to shame.

He turned to Dinah. "Tell me. With the entire team all busy with their own missions, why you didn't throw even one job my way?" He glanced at the monitor and had observed Chloe so many times before that he knew how to read it. "There are two other active crimes happening, and you didn't think to inform me of them."

Dinah glanced at Clark. Clark shook his head. He turned to Oliver, then said somberly. "Oliver, we've decided you're in no shape, nor in the state of mind, to be on assignment right now."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?" He shook his head. "Tell me I didn't just hear Clark Kent trying to control me. I have been working nonstop to keep Metropolis safe."

"Oliver, your body is falling apart. Your head—"

"I paid to have all this back online," Oliver gestured to the computers surrounding them.

"We know you funded the Watchto—"

Oliver interrupted, "It's not the Watchtower, Clark. Not yet."

"Oliver, that's all you can contribute right now. We don't need you endangering yourself and the team." Clark sighed. "You're getting reckless."

Oliver's eyes turned to Dinah. "This is how the entire team feels?" Dinah nodded.

"Even John," Clark pointed out. "We just want you to recover as soon as possible, even if it means we're one headcount down."

How quickly they forgot, but he supposed it was the easiest way to survive. After all, what he termed waiting for a cure, they all opposed for its cruelty.

"Oliver, the team feels that the best way to heal is if you went back to Star City for a while."

Oliver slammed the bow down on the table, right on top of the CD. He pulled off the green leather from his torso and tossed it to Clark. He turned his back on them and walked over to where he had left his civilian clothes. He changed in the empty building more often now, spend time there practicing, or drinking his scotch. He took his dress shirt and shrugged it on. Then, Oliver took his folded pants and swapped the tights with them.

"Ollie."

He zipped up and buttoned the pants, then turned to where Dinah stood at the doorway. She had such a sad look in her eyes that she did not need the shadow of the canary across her face.

"Someday you'll feel better," she said. It was trite, not helpful at all. But she was trying. "Right now I'm sorry."

"I know," he returned.

"Right now the best thing for you is to hang your tights. No one will blame you if you go MIA, if we don't see the Green Arrow for a few months." She licked her lips, then offered, "Go on a drinking binge, gamble half of LuthorCorp away. It's going to be cathartic."

"Will it, Dinah?" he said lightly.

On the day Chloe pulled him back, he had seen it in her eyes. She had not admitted, not in so many worlds, but she had gone through hell to make sure he returned from the very same place that Dinah opened to him now. He was the hero now. She had paved the way back so he would reclaim the green leather.

He would never bury the Green Arrow again.

~o~o~o~

They were wrong. So wrong.

He stood outside the glass windows in MetGen, out in the private wing that had been cordoned off to most of the hospital employees. Emil stood beside him rattling off vitals that meant little to him. Instead, he asked the question.

"When will she wake up?"

"If you tell me you want her awake tomorrow, she will be," Emil assured him.

Oliver winced at the thought. The lower portion of the left half of her face was scorched, and the mottled, burned skin crept down her neck, to her arm and thigh. It was a miracle she was alive, a miracle brought about by quick thinking and priceless skill and efficiency of the doctor. "She'll be in hell," Oliver thought. His chest wound alone had almost killed him in pain, and even now there were days when his arm felt like it still burned with Zod's hatred. He could not imagine what Chloe would feel, with half her body on fire.

"That's why I elected to induce the coma until we can find a faster way to heal her."

She was not going to approve of this--immersed in the tinted green water that served to preserve her organ functions while in her unconscious state. But this was the choice he had to make, and when Emil told him it was the only way to save her in those last seconds of her life, when her blood grew infected because of the massive burns, he had no place for reservations.

Once in this lifetime she had saved him—the places she went to, the depths she sank—to pull him back from the ledge. There was no possibility on earth that he would be unwilling to do the same for her.

"There's a rumor going around in the medical world, Oliver. There might be a way to get her back from this."

Heat vision burn, blood infection—her body was wrecked and they were forcing her asleep to save her the agony. If there was a way—

"Do it," he said decisively.

"When you find out what it is, then tell me if you're still willing to go through the effort."

It was an insane thought. If there was a way to bring her back, he would do it. He would face the mentor who wanted to kill him. Heck, he would look Zod straight in the eye again despite being defeated both times they faced off.

"There is a drug that we can pump into her bloodstream that would kill off the blood infection from the heat vision. It's going to heal her burns quickly. It would work so well that there wouldn't even be scarring."

Oliver looked at the doctor in disbelief. "Get me that cure," he said softly.

"It's under development. But they say it's effective. It's a top secret program right now, hidden behind shadow labs or shadow corporations. It has layer over layer of secrecy."

"For medicine?" Oliver said in surprise.

"For the fact that the study and the creation was made to recover someone we thought was burned to a crisp a long time ago," Emil pointed out. "It's a lab working with—"

"Spill it."

"Lex Luthor."

Oliver froze at the name. The death of the man had propelled his downward spiral. Now he was alive. Now he would need his help.

"I own Luthorcorp," Oliver said. "I have the right to whatever project they have."

"This lab does not work under Luthorcorp." Emil's hands fisted. "You'll need to find out where it's located. And then, Oliver, you will need to work with Lex Luthor." Oliver gritted his teeth. It was a rumor, but rumors from Emil had more weight than the best of the news. "You know he won't make it easy. We know he will ask you for more than money in exchange for a sample."

"I already killed the man once," Oliver answered. "I know how difficult he will make this. If I can find him."

"Are you really ready for what he'll want?"

Oliver had no doubt it would have something to do with Clark. Whatever it was, the team would be in peril. He placed a hand on the cold glass window. "You mean, am I capable of what Lex Luthor would want done?"

"Maybe it's the same."

Second thoughts spelled disaster. It was second thought that kept them from packing up their bags and leaving months ago. If he had second thoughts to Emil's plan to save her life, he would have lost her months ago.

"I can handle anything he throws my way," Oliver stated. He turned to Emil, then said, "Not a word of this to anyone in the League."

Oliver walked out of MetGen. He spotted his car across the parking lot. He walked towards it and stopped when Clark Kent appeared out of nowhere. He held out a black duffel bag, then said, "Your suit."

Oliver took the bag, then pointed out, "You do know I have several of these. You didn't have to bother."

"I wanted to take the time to apologize," Clark offered with a small smile. "I know how you feel." Oliver seriously doubted it, because he would eat nails before he admitted that what he and Clark felt about Chloe's situation even closely resembled. Clark continued. "I guess you could say… I take back the ultimatum. Go on missions, Oliver. I'll be right behind you. I have your back."

Oliver gave his friend half a smile. "Thank you."

Clark nodded. "How is she?" He could not come around because of the cure that Emil used, but it did not mean he did not care for his friend. Even if he did not believe in the principle of it, Chloe was still his first kiss, and the girl who saved him a million times.

Half burned, asleep for months, a sickly shade of pale white and green. "As gorgeous as always," Oliver answered easily. He dumped the bag in the backseat of his car, then slipped behind the wheel. He watched Clark vanish from the windshield mirror.

If Lex Luthor was alive, if he had the cure, then he was ready to give up whatever the man wanted in exchange. Anything. Anyone.

"_What if I can't outrun these dark places inside of me?" – Oliver to Mia, Disciple_

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

"_You're a fighter. You fought for yourself and for a second chance." - Chloe to Oliver, Roulette_

The rapid fire succession that burst from his fingers now was not endless accurate arrows zipping towards a target. Letters, numbers, symbols punched into a keyboard now. Oliver's eyes focused on the screen, his body thrummed with sheathed energy. He was unused to this—this passionate intensity that needed to be contained as he kept himself still.

On a mission, he expended the energy from his body by flying through his zipline, pulling taut the bow and releasing until he could see the violent reaction from the bull's eye. He needed to see skin rip, muscles tear. He needed to feel the gravel against his face, broken glass cutting into his leather when he fought.

This mission was punishment enough. But days of tapping into every funnel and hole he found in the LuthorCorp mainframe had brought him closer. Chloe could have closed this mission in hours once she knew where to begin. Even Emil could have completed this much sooner. But this was Oliver's mission—one that no one else needed to know. Any other soul in the team would pose a threat of conscience when it came down to the face off.

He started when he heard the click. Within a split second he had turned the screen off and whipped around with his arrow trained on a familiar forehead.

Clark stopped in his tracks and raised his hands.

At the sight, Oliver's eyes narrowed. A breath, then two. He lowered the weapon and muttered and apology. "I didn't expect you."

But Clark looked at the tip of the arrow warily. "That's why you used your meteor rock-dipped arrow," he questioned.

Oliver shrugged, then sheathed the arrow into the quiver, allowing Clark to step closer. "I figure this one can take down any enemy—human or Kandorian." Truth to tell, after the massive blowout with Zod none of the Kandorians had dared to attack. Their numbers were too low to manage any sort of feat. But Oliver did not need to say it. It was a plausible excuse still to be carrying weapons that could hurt his friend.

"Is everything alright, Ollie?" Clark asked in concern.

Oliver eyes him as if he had sprouted two heads. It was the dumbest question he had ever heard. "You know it's not," Oliver pointed out.

"I'm not talking about Chloe," Clark started.

"Why won't you be?" came the archer's response. "We both know that's the reason everything won't be alright for a long time."

This was unacceptable—this entire conversation. It was futile to ignore the facts, which Clark chose to do.

Oliver gestured to the crumbling tower, to the dozens of equipment still in their boxes. The set up was slow, and the team's recovery was pathetic at best. "You have this place to prove it to you every day."

Far be it for him to acknowledge that he was the one who refused to have the place cleaned and repainted, or that Victor and Emil had offered to complete the computer set up only to back away at Oliver's growl.

"Oliver, we've seen you working here for the past few nights."

"I thought you wanted me off the streets." Oliver gave a small, bitter chuckle. "Come on, Clark. I can't ever satisfy you, can I? First you convince the team that I'm killing myself by patrolling, and now you're against my staying in here." Oliver shook his head. Clark was one of the closest friends he was ever going to have, but he needed to go back to work and search for that bastard. Never in a million years would he have ever thought his life would depend on Luthor. "You're a bit wishy washy there, farmboy. Make a decision. Now I know what Chloe felt all these years."

And just as quickly he felt himself pulled violently up against a rock-hard chest. His breath left his body. Oliver found himself the sole recipient of Clark's glare. "Stop it. And don't change the subject."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Take your hands off me." When Clark didn't loosen the grip, Oliver continued, "Or are you planning to use your heat vision on me too—finish off what Zod started?" Clark blinked, fazed by the comment. "You know what you have over me and everyone else in this team."

Clark released him. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't—"

Oliver raised a hand in a gesture of silence. "Just leave me alone. I'm staying off the streets like you wanted. Go."

"The team is—"

"Here for me," Oliver finished for Clark. "I'm not an invalid. I can dial a phone. I can send text messages. If I need any of you, you'll know it."

And it was just like Clark Kent never to know when to stop. Oliver turned his back on Clark and faced the powered down monitor screen. Once he heard Clark was gone, he would turn it back on and resume his search.

Then he heard, "Chloe wouldn't appreciate your single-minded obsession to whatever you're doing right now. You're pushing us all away."

"You're kidding, right?" Oliver chuckled. "Chloe Sullivan's the queen of single-minded obsession when it comes to the greater good. She shuts everything out and sees only what she wants."

"If that's how you choose to see things, then I can't help you," Clark intoned. Oliver heard the noise of Clark leaving. He turned to check and once he found the room empty. He turned on the screen again.

A chat box had appeared.

Oliver froze.

He read the message from the unknown source. "If you poke hard enough, you'll wake a sleeping dragon."

He entered a message in response, and found it kicked by because the sender had gone offline. Oliver had watched Chloe often enough to know at least how to trace the route of the sender. He quickly and calmly pulled up the command prompt and ran the code, capturing the IP within seconds and sending it over to his contacts.

It would take hours, he knew, to uncover the originating point. Whoever it was—and if he was fumbling his way correctly if inefficiently the sender would be exactly who he expected—probably hid behind proxies and mirror servers. But Oliver Queen paid well for jobs as well done, and kept on retainer the very best. He would find what he needed without issue.

After he had sent the information and his instructions, Oliver turned back around and considered the door. It was still half open from when Clark stalked away from their confrontation. He had to admit. He had been a little bit unfair, or at least belligerent.

He slipped his hand into his pants and took his phone out, then looked down at the screen. He chose the number from his speed dial. He was due to check in.

"Emil—"

Clark could wait. More important things mattered to Oliver Queen.

~o~o~o~o~

When Green Arrow descended upon the flat gray rooftop where the message originated, tracked by hopping onto satellites using Queen Industries data feed, the security alert immediately threw up an alarm so frantic and loud laser lights burst up towards the sky and his eardrums almost shattered with low decibel interference. Oliver cursed like he had never cursed before. The string of swear words that erupted from his lips rivaled that of any guest in some day time talk show real people guest.

He had stumbled onto the floor and clutched at his ears. At times like those he wished the rest of the team knew where he was in case he needed backup. Yet once he decided he would take on the mission he also accepted the fact that he would be alone. And so he pulled himself up and scampered away, without a trace of smoothness, and threw his body onto the ledge.

The noise drove him insane. Security had already been alerted and he debated the prospect of jumping down and hoping halfway in the plummet he would recover enough to use his zipline to save himself. Seconds later the decision was taken out of his hands when the doors burst open. Oliver gritted his teeth and jumped off.

And as gruff and insulting as the Hawkman was, Oliver would be forever grateful to the man for catching him by his armpits. He needed to remember to fund the JSA some after this ordeal.

"Stupid, sloppy move—exactly when I expected," Hawkman barked into Green Arrow's ear. Hawkman dumped him unceremoniously onto an alley not far away.

Oliver stood up and pulled off his hood. "Not that I'm not thankful you saved my ass, but have you been stalking me?"

Hawkman snarled. "I told you. I've been there. I can predict your moves by remembering what I did. You're careless. I was. You're proud. And," he paused, "you're going to do a lot of stupid things—things you're going to keep from your team."

"I need to get in there," Oliver stated. He met Hawkman's narrowed gaze. He needed to understand. He claimed to understand. "Carter, I need to get in."

"Ever tried the door?" Hawkman asked before flying away.

Oliver combed his fingers through his hair. He huffed in frustration. He walked towards his bike, then heard the noise. He then saw a few of the security personnel run out of the building, pointing towards the sky. In all his winged glory, Hawkman hovered above the building. The lights up top focused on him. Oliver realized that Hawkman provided him with the distraction, so he slipped into the building like originally intended.

Oliver knew well enough to take the elevator to the top floor. He put on his disguise. When the doors opened, he walked onto the office space and stopped in his tracks. There, standing before the ceiling to floor glass window, was the familiar build and the unmistakable back of Luthor's bare head.

"Lex."

Lex Luthor's hand held a glass of scotch. He brought it to his lips. He seemed to be watching the Hawkman as he hovered on air. "I can make wings like those more efficient, quieter, allow him to travel faster and higher."

"As you can see, he doesn't need your help," Oliver returned with his voice distorted. He saw his own reflection on the glass.

"Won't you be more comfortable using your own voice, Mr Queen?"

Oliver started. Then again, there were no secrets with Lex Luthor. Not anymore. So he pulled off the hood and the glasses, then turned off the voice distorter. He tightened his jaw when Lex did not turn around still. Where Lex stood was a little shadowed and he could not see the man's face. Lex Luthor had been caught in an explosion, and he wanted to see that skin, see how true the rumors were, needed to see if facing his nightmares would be in vain.

"Turn around, Lex."

"You're the one who needs me," Lex returned. "You don't hold the aces. If you did, you wouldn't have searched me out."

"I think I'm the one with what you want," Oliver delivered. "I have the LuthorCorp shares. Everything your father ever worked for. Everything you wanted for yourself." Oliver cleared his throat. "I can sign it over to you now."

Slowly, Lex turned around. First, Oliver saw the glint of his cheek. Lex revealed his jaw. And then, as he rotated, Oliver's eyes widened.

Lex Luthor stood, as perfect and as smooth as the day he disappeared. "Look," Lex whispered. "No scars. Nothing. Does this look like it's worth one measly company?"

"Billions," Oliver threw back. "I bought LuthorCorp share for billions and grew it more than a quarter of its old size in the few years I had it. In a recession, Lex. I'm giving you billions."

Lex shook his head. "The best thing I learned from the last few years is that money isn't everything."

Oliver's hand itched for the medicine. Lex was half dead—he should have been—after the explosion. To make as gigantic a recovery as he did—

"What do you want?" Oliver demanded.

Lex stepped forward and poured scotch into another glass. He walked over to Oliver and handed him the drink. "First I want to congratulate you. Of all the people in the world, you were the last person I thought would find me. Then again I stopped considering other people because I was just sure our intrepid reporter would be the one to discover Lex Luthor alive. And I hadn't revised my suspicions yet since finding out the nosy little girl was brought down by an alien."

Oliver winced.

"How is my favorite wallflower?"

"I'm not here to talk about Chloe," Oliver intoned.

"Au contraire," Lex murmured. Oliver felt as if Lex Luthor's eyes scorched him the way Zod's painful glare could not do. Lex grinned. "So it's true," he said, as if recognizing something for the first time. "The little girl's all grown up. Oliver Queen."

And for months before he had taken pleasure in people commenting on the relationship. This time felt odd. Disgusting.

"When she was younger, she was under my care for months," Lex narrated. "I watched her every night."

This was a story he did not wish to hear. He had not been a part of Chloe's life. If he had he would have saved her himself. Oliver repeated, "What do you want if not LuthorCorp?"

"Blood," Lex answered easily.

"I will not kill for you." Chloe knew Oliver had gone over the edge at the thought that he killed Lex, and Lex had been the sum of the earth. He was never going to be Luthor's tool.

"Let me share with you my favorite line from Nietzche."

"Figures that would be your hero."

"That which is done out of love happens beyond good and evil," Lex told him. He threw back the scotch from his glass. "I have no doubt you will accept my terms."

Love. He had succumbed to it, and though he abhorred the admission he was afraid that Lex would be right.

"You want my company's drug; then you give me what I need."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. He stated empathically, with his heart thudding in his chest, "I will not dive in the gutters of morality for you, Lex." And he knew it was a half a lie. Lex Luthor's skin gleamed, scarless. And he was healthier and more active than he ever had been. To imagine Chloe open her eyes, alert and painless—

He would do it for you, the darkest, the most horrible, the most terrifying.

"I know about her," Lex said abruptly. "I know that infection will not hold off for much longer, no matter how much meteor rock the good doctor dissolves into that fluid. I know without my drug she's as good as dead. The Kandorian did her in very well."

"In exchange for blood?" But she was getting further and further away the longer she slept. Oliver's lips thinned.

"No blood then."

"I want you to bring me Clark Kent."

The words stung like hell. His heart rebelled at the thought. He lowered his head. His hand fisted to the side.

Lex continued. "I feel at the very peak of my health. Like I can live forever," he told Oliver. And then, when Oliver looked back up, he saw Lex holding up the small bottle of gleaming red fluid. "A drop of this is worth more than LuthorCorp." He smirked. "But I'm a sentimental man. I'll give you the bottle in exchange for both my father's company and a certain farmboy reporter who can easily defend himself."

He was right. Oliver wanted him to be right, so he convinced himself of it. All that mattered was that she would wake up.

"Do we have a deal, Mr Queen?"

Oliver took a deep breath. "If it works, I'll hand him over."

Lex smirked. "It works." He handed it over to Oliver. Oliver's trembling hand closed around the bottle.

Oliver walked out of the building and crossed the street. He found Hawkman standing by his bike. "Did you get what you needed?" asked Carter. Oliver nodded curtly. "Then you can put your team back together."

That stung.

"Now you're not going to freefall, and I'll go back to people who need me."

Oliver licked his lips. "Thank you. For all your help."

The man grinned. "You are I may not agree on principle, but in many things we're the same." Carter placed a hand heavily on Oliver's chest. "Family first. And the team is your family."

And even then, Oliver considered the unspoken name between them. Carter's wife. The family and the team was smokescreen before what Carter truly felt. It was his method of survival. Oliver had a different one.

"This may be the last time we see each other for a long time," Oliver told Carter. "After this, I'll take a break—go home. So thank you."

Carter nodded. The Hawkman flew away. Oliver got on his bike and leaned forward, prepared for the long ride. He glanced up at the starry sky.

One of these nights he would lounge on the rooftop of Queen Industries, with Chloe's head pillowed on his arm. And he would point out the stars to her, because the night was never as beautiful as it was in Star City. And she would laugh, because she could; tell him stories of her day because she was awake; kiss him and crawl on top of him, kiss his nose because she was there and they were together.

And he would forget everything he had done to get her back.

The road was arduous, and even before the deed the guilt weight heavy on his shoulders. But the bottle was tucked under his belt, and Chloe had been asleep so long.

When they were in Star City, Metropolis would not matter any longer.

He pushed the number on the phone, then tucked in his earpiece safely. Clark's voice answered with some cheer. "Hey. I'm concerned about out last conversation. Can you meet me tomorrow for lunch?" he asked. It was easy for Clark to agree. He always did trust too much, far more than he and Chloe ever trusted him. "No. The team might be there. We need privacy. I'll see you at my place."

Oliver turned off the phone and put on his shades, then, bearing the priceless liquid, rode back to her.

"_It's all about your heart. Just listen. Right there between the beats. That's when you let go." - Oliver to Chloe, Warrior_

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Road to the Stars

AN: Since this is a story that got left WIP for a few months, here's a quick reminder: This story was written right after Hostage and before Salvation. Except for the quotes at the start and end of each part, none of what happened in Salvation happened in this story.

**Part 4**

"_I can't be the eye in the sky anymore. Now that I have Ollie I want to plug into the real world." – Chloe to Clark, Hostage_

There were no questions asked. When Oliver laid down that rule, Emil acquiesced as he always did. No matter what the task, the doctor showed his blind faith in Oliver Queen. There was a reason that Oliver trusted the man with his secrets, and Emil Hamilton did not fail him. That Oliver Queen had entrusted him with this, what had been and what still was the billionaire's greatest secret, was to Emil validation enough of his role in Oliver's life.

They met in the hospital wing that had been cordoned off from the non-essential. For months the only other people who walked inside were the two of them. Members of the Justice League had passed by and even they were allowed only up to the glass windows, high above them in the surgical theatre box.

Emil had been at the monitors by her side when Oliver walked inside in his suit and tie. Clearly he had only just flown in. Emil noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. The man had been ready to crash into bed. But Oliver Queen had requested for the meeting, and had made it clear he would not wait another day. To Emil, it was clear that Oliver, who had worked long and hard after he informed him of the Luthor cure, had made some gains. He turned to Oliver, eager to hear what the man had to say.

He needed to know if there was some distinct possibility of a cure.

The infection from the Kandorian burn had been held off for too long, and Emil could see her body developing resistance to the liquid soak.

Oliver nodded to Emil to acknowledge he had not forgotten about him, but held up a finger in a silent request. Then he turned to the patient, still unchanged as she was asleep in her induced coma. Oliver leaned close to her, the way he always did when he was about to say something too private even for the trusted doctor's ears.

But this time the silence in the room and the anticipation built allowed his quiet words to carry faintly to Emil.

"Just a little longer, Chloe," was the promise he heard.

In fascination, Emil watched as Oliver Queen straightened and removed his black jacket. He then untucked the white shirt he wore and unbuttoned from the bottom up. Oliver parted the edges of his dress shirt to reveal the flesh-covered tape on his stomach. He peeled away the tape and revealed the swatch of thick cloth folded together. Oliver took it and unfolded the cloth to reveal what it was he had protected so well and hidden so skilfully.

Oliver held the vial up, and Emil saw the green liquid glint inside of it.

"Give me a syringe."

No questions asked. Emil handed the ideal size to his boss. Oliver stuck the needle into the vial and filled the syringe with the precious liquid. He took Chloe's uninjured hand in his, then very intentionally dried the inside of her elbow, the soft skin there where the veins were prominent.

Oliver winced when the needle pierces the green-tinged skin. He deliberately pushed the liquid into her bloodstream. Emil did not realize that Oliver had been holding his breath until the last of the liquid was gone and Oliver gasped for breath.

Oliver placed the used syringe on the bedside table and then took a seat beside Chloe. He looked up at Emil, who had picked up the syringe and the empty vial. Dealing with heroes and billionaires had given him the obsessive compulsion of ensuring they left no traces of their actions. Oliver finally declared, "Now you can ask."

Emil glanced at Oliver, then shrugged, "Why?" And then, to clarify, he said, "I mean, why am I allowed to ask now after the deed is done when I wasn't allowed to talk right before you injected her with whatever that was?"

At least Emil was certain it was not some dangerous toxin. Oliver Queen would never deliberately hurt Chloe Sullivan. At least, he would not suspect poison unless they were sure she was dying.

"You're level headed," Oliver stated.

His voice was calm, collected. He could fool a board of trustees or potential investors. But Oliver had opened his life to him—not on the first day the Green Arrow stumbled into his balcony and demanded the young doctor treat the stab wound on his belly, back in Star City when he only knew him as the CEO of Queen Industries, the afternoon after he administered his executive checkup, not on the day he reluctantly referred his friend for treatment of a gunshot wound. Both of those instances, though life-changing for Emil, did not require Oliver Queen to open as much as the day he had begged him to find a way to keep Chloe Sullivan alive.

The world was about to end, but the Green Arrow had brought to him the half-scorched body of his teammate, turned his back on a mission that was barely finished, and told him to save her life. It was more than he would have done for any one of his teammates, but then again, Chloe, like Emil, was supposed to be at the sidelines. They were not superpowered, nor did they have gadgets and costumes and called themselves heroes.

Chloe Sullivan had been nothing short of a miracle. When Emil listened to the faint heartbeat and assessed the extent of the damage she was as good as dead. He would have pronounced it—no medicine in any pharmacy, no medical procedure in any journal, would have cured her.

And then he walked back into the room and found him seated, slumped shoulders, his elbows resting on his knees while he clutched her hand and held it to his lips.

That was the day that Oliver Queen opened himself fully, and never again could he hide from Emil. On that day, despite the odds, Emil knew he would find a way.

"Neither of us trusts Lex," intoned the billionaire. At that Emil figured out that the vial was the much discussed, hard to find Luthor cure. And he knew then that Oliver had found Lex Luthor. "There was a possibility you would stop me, and I still would have done it anyway," Oliver confessed. "You've done more than any doctor would have ever done. If this ends badly, I want you to have the peace of mind of knowing you weren't part of it."

"If you're not sure of Lex's cure, then why use it at all?" Emil asked, puzzled. Over the months Oliver had wanted only one thing, and there he went and gambled.

Oliver gave him a grim smile. "I can see it in your eyes," he said. "The last couple of weeks I visited, I can tell by the way you say her name. We're not saving her anymore."

Emil nodded. "The soak isn't stopping the infection anymore. Her white blood cell count is rising. In the coma, her immune system is toast."

"And we can't wake her up," Oliver said.

Emil shook his head. "With the damage to her body, it would be cruel." Like waking her up to experience how she died. Watchtower deserved better than that.

"Then let's hope for his sake that his potion works," Oliver said, his voice hoarse.

"I can arrange a med evac, low key, in case you want to take her home for this," Emil offered quietly. In his experience dealing with anything half as serious as this, loved ones often wanted to wait in their homes, take their patients to familiar places.

Oliver met his eyes with stoic dignity. Emil knew Oliver was familiar with the offer. For a moment, the spirit was alive and kicking. The billionaire scowled. His voice was firm when he insisted, "I'll take her home when she gets better."

For someone who had doubts about the Luthor cure, Oliver certainly sounded like he had expectations. He was quite the idealist, or else he was a fine liar.

"Go home," Oliver instructed. "I can stay with her tonight."

Emil nodded. He gestured towards the far well, where the small cabinet was hidden by the wall panelling. Oliver nodded. He was the one who ensured it was stocked with essentials. "I'll log her vitals and then I'm off," he said. There was a game on tv, microwave dinner in his freezer. And then he would catch up with his Time magazines. He had to remember to bring some tomorrow, in case Oliver decided to stay the night again. Something to read.

Emil logged her heartbeat on his chart, then checked for at least three one-minute intervals of her pulse rate. He did the same thing for her blood pressure.

"Emil."

The doctor glanced at Oliver, who blinked at the burns like it was the first time he had seen them. Emil walked over to Oliver. It was then that he noticed something odd. The wound—moved. He narrowed his eyes and gasped when a piece of the red mottled flesh fell away and floated in the kryptonite water.

"Oh."

Oliver stood over the pool of kryptonite-tinged soak and with trembling fingers touched the pink flesh revealed.

"Is it working?" Emil muttered silently, uselessly. He had turned useless by the sight. It was not possible, yet there it was. Lex Luthor might be evil, but he was and always will be a genius. "It's working. It's working." The burns were healing, and now all Chloe would need to do was fight off the infection in her blood from the burns that had been there.

But Oliver was silent now. He reached to touch Chloe's face. His hand covered the burns on her cheek. Oliver brushed his thumb over her lips. Then, he took a deep breath and peeled his hand away. He swallowed when most of the burns came off with his palm, then released in the soak.

The pink, fresh skin was the most gorgeous he had ever seen.

"There you are, beautiful," he whispered.

And then, boldly now, Oliver gently brushed at the wounds and allowed her fresh skin to be revealed.

The monitors beeped and Emil grabbed Oliver's arm. "I'm pulling her out," the doctor announced. "There shouldn't be any considerable amount of pain now. We can wake her up."

"Wait," Oliver said.

"We shouldn't wait. She needs to be strong and alert if she's going to fight off the infection."

Oliver took a deep breath. "How long will it take to wake her up?"

"I can take her off the drugs now, and she'll be awake in about half an hour when whatever is left in her system wears off." Emil frowned. "Do you have any concerns?"

Oliver shook his head. "I just—If she's waking up today, then I want her to wake up at my place. She should be somewhere familiar."

This time, he wasn't taking her home to wait for death.

"Can you still arrange for that med evac?"

"It will cost you," Emil said with levity, knowing it would not, knowing he would not care.

~o~o~o~

Her lashes fluttered open and it was like waking up from a long deserved rest. Chloe sighed at the sensation of the sun on her face. He heard the sound and his chest tightened. The arms he had wrapped around her waist tightened. Oliver buried his lips in the crook of her neck.

"Ollie," she breathed.

And he was not ashamed to say the sound of her voice, even saying something as simple as his name, brought tears to his eyes. "Good morning," he said in greeting.

She turned on her back, and he gave her space only until she could lay back on the bed. He raised himself up on his elbow and his eyes hungrily took in her face. His fingers brushed a line where the burns used to occupy her face. But now the skin was healed, the muscles firm but wonderfully yielding.

"You're beautiful."

She flushed, and Oliver delighted at the rosy glow that came to her cheeks, because it told him the vessels functioned perfectly.

"So are you," Chloe answered. She raised her arms and locked her wrists at his nape, then pulled him down for a kiss. When their lips parted, Oliver saw the furrow on her brow. "We were supposed to save the world, from the aliens. They were—"

"We saved the world," he said easily. He remembered the battle, and how she had run from the van when Zod was upon him. His throat tightened. It would take some time for her to remember all of it, but at least he could tell her, "You were the bravest out of all of us."

"I was injured," Chloe concluded when the memory did not return at once.

"You saved my life," he said easily, truthfully. Without her to distract Zod he would have taken the direct hit of the Kandorian's heat vision.

Her eyes brightened, and she bit her lip. "Of course I did." And her voice took on a dream-like quality that it always did when she flirted with him. He loved her like this. She did not have a care in the world. He wished he could give this to her forever. "Comes with the territory."

"The territory?" he repeated, laughing softly. "So I'm your territory now. Didn't know you would be so possessive."

"It comes with the territory of being in love," she pointed out. At his look of surprise, she widened her eyes. "That much I can remember, Ollie."

Of all the things that trauma could erase, he was glad that much she recalled.

"And I seem to remember that you said it back."

He smirked. "Did you ever have any doubts?"

"So I saved your life," Chloe said playfully. "I guess that means you owe me."

He owed her for so much more, but Oliver nodded instead. This life, this wasn't for them, he thought. This was the life that they led when they were empty and searching for a purpose. He endangered himself every night to keep the people of Star City, and then Metropolis, safe. She had devoted her life ensuring heroes found their way.

"I know exactly how to repay you," he told her. She blinked up at him, and then she raised herself up on her elbow so they were at the same eye level as they lay on the bed. Oliver felt her raise a leg and hike it up over his thigh. "Before we left to fight the Kandorians, you told me what you wished for."

Her eyes clouded at the thought. "It was a joke," she said uneasily. "I know you would never consider—"

"I want to do it," he cut in. "You and I, we're leaving all of this. We are going to leave this behind. I'm taking you home to Star City." Because even on that night he had been tempted to run away with her, and regretted even saving the world in the last months when they were forced to keep her under. If they were gone so would the ever present threat to their lives. If they were gone Luthor would have no way of demanding repayment without coming out of the shadows. In fact, they would disappear from this life by being conspicuous. "I'll take you home. In my place back home you could see right across the city. I want us to stand in the balcony and watch the fireworks over Star Bridge. I'll propose to you at the big screen at Papp Stadium." She laughed, because it was ridiculous. But if she liked the idea he would do it. Just for her. No holds barred. "You haven't seen Orchid Bay, but there's a lovely park there that I can block off for a wedding."

They had only just said the words to each other. In her memory it could well have been yesterday.

Oliver eased up and said, "Anything we want, Chloe. It's ours."

"Really?" she whispered, blinking away the tears.

He reached to wipe them away with his thumb. "Really," he answered back, dropping a kiss on her lips. "Because I love you."

She rested her head back on the pillow, then closed her eyes. Oliver realized she was willing herself to remember. "The last thing I remember was calling for help. You were alone against Zod." Chloe shivered.

But she was in his ear, and he was never alone for a single moment. Oliver placed a hand on her hip and pulled her to him. He lowered his head and placed a kiss on her throat. "You saved my life and Zod nearly killed you," he told her. The story still hurt to tell. Oliver told her about the extent of the injury, and how he and Emil were forced to induce her coma. When she learned that it had been close to three months since the battle, Chloe blinked away her tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing the tracks.

Chloe tried to smile her way through it. "I hope you didn't start drinking again, burning your Green Arrow suit."

He shook his head. "I wasn't going to dig myself into my own grave when I knew you weren't there to pull me out." Because if he had, he knew he was never getting out of it again.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I'll always be here."

He was not going to tell another soul of the bargain he had made, but they were ending their existence together to begin a new one. Oliver knew it was truth that could never be hidden away. He pushed closer to her body. He could feel her heat and he was glad. Gone were the chilled green water around her, and she was as warm and yielding as he remembered.

"I made a deal with the devil to get you back, Chloe."

Chloe sat up on the bed and looked down at him. "What did you do, Oliver?"

The loss of contact was drastic, and Oliver mourned as the cool breeze touched his body. He pulled himself back up to sit down. He met Chloe's eyes. "I was about to lose you, and only one person had the cure."

Her mind worked quickly, sifting through the database in her head, connecting all that she had learned so far. "Lex?" she asked. Her pitch rose in question, even though all the facts pointed to him. She asked, because from everything she knew Lex Luthor was dead.

"He lived through the explosion, Chloe. That is how he found the only thing that would cure you."

Chloe's lips were grim when she asked, "And the trade? What did he want for my life, Oliver?"

He thought it would be easy to confess, until he realized how much she had given, how much she was willing to do for the good that her best friend could bring to the world.

"Ollie," she prompted.

"You have to know, Chloe, that I would do anything for you."

Her hand reached for his. Oliver turned his hand palm up so he could tangle their fingers together. "For what it's worth, if it had been you I would have willingly traded my life, Ollie."

And he could see it, would not put it past her to deem his life was worth more than hers. If it came down to it, he realized he would have done the same thing. If Lex had dangled the cure before him and asked the Green Arrow to surrender afterwards, he would watched from the surgical theatre as Emil woke Chloe and then walked willingly into Lex's web.

But what he had promised was far worse.

"Clark," he said simply.

Oliver waited. In silence.

Chloe took a deep breath. His chest tightened, and he did not know when he would breathe again. And then, to his surprise, she was in his arms. He wrapped her in a tight embrace. Chloe kissed the back of his ear and then straddled him. Her mouth closed over his. "I wasn't in your place," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Oliver."

His hold on her tightened. "You forgive me?" he said in disbelief.

"We vanish. We run away. Clark stays safe. We cheat Lex. No one ever needs to know," she told him.

He made love to her that morning like it was their honeymoon, and for all their promises it was in fact one. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together. Oliver buried himself in Chloe like branding the promise inside her.

They rested for a while, and Oliver dozed off for a half hour. He woke to an empty bed. He grinned when he smelled burning bacon, then shook his head. It would be a lifetime of breakfast food that was toasted a little too much, of lunches that were bland, of dinners that set off the fire alarms every two days.

God, he looked forward to all of it.

He slipped on his pants and a black t-shirt, then rushed out to the kitchen. He wiped the grin off his face, because he did not want to offend her. Her culinary skills may be lacking, but she was fine in every other department of his life. He could get used to eating charred meat if it meant waking up next to her.

Oliver's brows furrowed when he saw the empty kitchen. He walked towards the stove and saw the blackened bacon strips. He turned off the stove.

"Chloe!" he called out.

The coffee in the coffee maker had cooled.

Oliver saw the bowl of beaten eggs on the sink.

"Chloe!" he called again, this time louder, a little more urgently.

He heard the moan. His heart stopped. Oliver ran towards the bathroom and saw her on the tiled floor, leaning back against the bathtub, the toilet open with congealed vomit staining the seat where she had not had enough time to lean forward.

"My God," he whispered.

The burns had returned, a little less severe than they had been in the hospital. Oliver dropped to his knees. His pants grazed her leg and she cried out in pain.

"I'm sorry," Oliver muttered. His gaze was wide. He started to reach for her. He said his name, and even his breath made her groan in pain. Oliver drew back sharply. He buried his fingers in her hair. Before his eyes the burns grew worse. He stumbled to his feet and snatched the phone from the cradle. He barked at Emil on the phone.

"If they're back the same way they were, we need to put her under, Oliver."

Oliver breathed harshly. She had been fine. The cure. Lex had cured her like he cured his own burns. Oliver dropped the phone, leaving it to hang bopping up and down on its short coiled cord.

He ran to his room and dialled the number that Lex had given him along with the potion. He grabbed a small case from his gear. As the phone rang, and he swore Lex allowed it to ring on to frustrate him, Oliver returned to the bathroom. Chloe's injuries were back exactly the way they were when he first injected her with the potion.

"Queen," answered Lex. "Right on time."

"What the hell did you give me?"

"I gave you a preview," Lex pronounced. Oliver grew cold. "Now you know what you're bound to lose if you don't hold up on your end of the bargain."

"Dammit. She's in pain!"

"This cure cost billions, Queen. I'm merely protecting my investment." Lex paused. "What I gave you was the test dosage, and I bet it worked up to the precise minute I expected it to wear off. I'll give you the real deal once I have Clark Kent."

"You could have told me how much time I had," Oliver gritted, "so we could put her under before—" Oliver glanced at Chloe, who was now bent over puking on the bathroom floor.

"And lose this precise moment? This is your impetus, Queen. Seeing this will get you into action."

Oliver heard the click when Lex disconnected. He tossed his cellphone into the sink. Oliver opened the case he had brought with him and took out one of the small arrow darts. He knelt beside Chloe, keeping to the uninjured side.

"Ollie," she said faintly.

"Sssshhh. Talking will just hurt."

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't give him up. You'll never forgive yourself."

Oliver swallowed. He kissed her temple, then placed the tip of the dart right at the pulse point at the base of her throat. Right there, it was the fastest way to distribute the tranquilizer. With a deft push of his finger, Oliver inserted the tip, cut into her, just enough that her blood would carry the drug through her body in an instant.

Her eyes slowly closed, and Oliver released his breath, grateful she was going under. It would take her out at least until Emil gets everything ready in the hospital.

"I love you," he whispered to her as she slipped into oblivion.

And then, Oliver pulled himself up to his feet. He walked to the sink and picked up his phone. Oliver looked down at the case and fingered the green-tipped arrow darts. He pressed to dial Clark's phone number.

"My living room. Ten minutes," Oliver said curtly into the phone.

Oliver hung up on Clark and dialled Lex's number again. "Half an hour. Get whatever restraints you need to use for Clark because I won't help you if you're stupid enough to make mistakes on this one," Oliver stated into the phone. "And I want the cure, this time the real one, or I won't hesitate to kill you again. This time I won't cause an explosion. I will personally gut you like a fish."

"You've got a deal, Queen."

"_The question you have to ask yourself is what are you willing to risk for love?" – Oliver to Clark, Isis_


	5. Chapter 5

Road to the Stars

**Part 5**

"_I lost someone. She meant everything to me." – Oliver to Reporter, Homecoming_

It had been with the cold calculation of a takeover that Oliver Queen set up his living room for precisely the purpose. He had taken Chloe back to bed and brushed the hair away from her face, careful to ensure that wisps would not be caught on the scar. With one kiss on her uninjured brow, Oliver swallowed the emotions that had raged inside of him since the morning.

"Use your access to the penthouse," Oliver told Emil over the phone. "Take her." It need not be mentioned how Emil would fire up the machines in the hospital to ensure Chloe did not wake up to her hell.

Oliver retrieved the lead-covered case that housed the large chunk of meteor rock, then placed it on the coffee table. It was enough to bring down Clark. And yet even then still Oliver set up the compound bows to surround his living room.

In this, more than in any other mission he took on in his life, failure could not exist. Another attempt was not an option.

One by one, Oliver set up the meteor-rock tipped bows. He would not even entertain thoughts of Clark Kent. Instead he focused on each step like it was the most critical in his life.

This would forever change the landscape of Metropolis, the fates of the heroes, the spirit of the team. His view of himself.

But heroism he could lose in exchange of love.

Ten minutes, precisely to the dot, Clark arrived in his living room. The man had a contrite look on his face, and Oliver envied him the innocence he still possessed. He did not wait for Clark to speak, because there was no explanation that would change his mind. Oliver reached for the small chest and lifted the lead cover.

Clark's face crumpled in pain and he fell to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain. When Clark looked up at him in betrayal, Oliver looked away.

"This is about her," Clark gasped.

Oliver was grateful he did not need to use his arrows. He gripped Clark's arm and pulled him up. There was no need to wear his Green Arrow suit. He swore the leather would burn off his skin if he pretended to be hero then. Oliver took the meteor rock from its case and slipped it into his pocket.

"What else would it be?" Oliver answered.

A shadow fell across the living room. Oliver gripped Clark and lifted him up over his shoulder. He saw Hawkman hovering outside his window and clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed as he met Carter's gaze through the man's mask. One of the bows was an arm's reach away. Oliver immediately assessed the exact angle of his arms needed to hit Carter should he become a threat.

They were the same. Carter knew his next step before Oliver did. This loss—Hawkman had lived through it time and again.

Hawkman nodded his head once and flew away.

Oliver released his held breath at half-relief and half-disappointment. In this, he was all by himself. The choice was his, unaffected by anyone else. To be a hero, or to do everything he would for love.

And every time, he realized, he would choose love.

He stood before Lex Luthor not a moment later than his commitment. Lex stood before him in his coat and tie, and in any other occasion they would appear like two businessmen finding themselves in another conference room over again. But this was a warehouse, private, off to the sides, housing the research facility that Lex had hidden for way too long. Lex's suit contrasted with the shirt and jeans that Oliver had hastily thrown together.

"A little too casual, aren't we, Queen?"

"To be fair," Oliver answered coldly, "I had been planning on staying in with my girlfriend."

"Sorry to throw a wrench in your plans," Lex said, his voice smooth, belying his words. "I want to make sure yours and Chloe's plans don't get delayed even more," he told him. "Why don't we get this over with and you can go on your way?" Lex suggested. "Where is he?"

"I want the cure."

"I promised you the cure and you'll get it. First I want to see Kent."

Oliver opened the door of the van he had driven into the warehouse. His gaze fell to Clark as he was coiled to his side. When Lex raised a hand to his men, Oliver shut the door.

"Give me the cure," Oliver repeated. "I don't trust you. And I mean offense when I say that."

Lex shrugged. Oliver watched as Lex walked to over to the side and opened a small cooling container. Lex took a half liter bottle from inside. "One part to two parts saline. Put it in a drip and flush out her infection. This will heal her completely."

Oliver stepped forward. Lex placed it inside the cooler and shut the lid. "Clark Kent."

Oliver's smile had been grim. Tomorrow was inside the container that Lex so closely guarded.

"Queen, you never back away from a deal. And this," Lex said, tapping the cover of the cooler, "is far more important than any contract you have ever signed."

As if he needed convincing, as if Oliver did not recognize the weight of the decision. Then again, Lex made certain Oliver knew exactly what he would lose by giving him twelve precious hours with Chloe. "You're not just asking for Clark in exchange," Oliver told him.

Because the moment that Oliver handed Clark over, he was going to forget that he was better than the man he was before Chloe.

"I need more proof than your word."

Oliver pressed the comm. link in his ear and within seconds the container vanished. Lex shook his head. "You always need these superpowered freaks to do your dirty work." Oliver tightened his jaw. Bart had taken little convincing to help out when Oliver himself had been close to being barred from working with a team he himself formed. It was for Chloe. That was all he needed to know. "Then again, you seem to want to curse yourself saddled with a meteor rock freak."

His hand fisted to his side. Then again he would say nothing to prolong the transaction. "Shut up, Luthor."

They would not talk about wives. No. Lex never saw his future the same way that Oliver saw his future with Chloe.

Oliver heard the confirmation from his comm. The content was genuine. Emil had lain out the exact formulation that Chloe needed from the traces left in the vial. Lex's container held exactly that, molecule per molecule, balanced at the ratio that Emil expected.

"Give it to her."

Oliver looked on at Lex, then nodded. He had what he needed. If only for this one thing—and not anything Lex Luthor had done to the world—Oliver sincerely hoped they were a little gentler to him in hell.

"When have I ever backed away from a deal?" Oliver returned. He turned his back on Lex. His eyes scanned the posted armed men surrounding them on the second floor space. There was a man close to a small chest similar to the one that Oliver had found in Lex's office after the takeover. Oliver's heart thundered in his chest. Whatever happened, he thought, Emil had Chloe. The cure was in their hands, and she could run away like they had planned to do together, just last night.

It seemed like forever ago.

Lex signalled to his men to pull Clark out of the van. Clark fell to his knees before Lex. Oliver shook his head. And then quickly, Oliver lunged for the lead chest that revealed the meteor rock and quickly shut it.

From the back of the van Oliver picked up his bow and shot out a dagger at the guard posted high above him. Clark shook his head to clear his vision. Oliver quietly stood before him to allow him time, then arrows flew quickly around them. Clark slowly recovered and picked himself up from the floor. Lex cursed and strode towards the abandoned meteor rock chest.

Oliver trained his arrow on Lex's back.

He heard the loud cry before he saw the window crash in. Oliver released the arrow before he was prepared and knocked the chest to the ground. The meteor rock clattered to the ground, leaving Clark vulnerable as he steadied himself on the floor. Hawkman flew like a berserker, his mace taking down the posted guards above them.

Oliver raced towards the meteor rock, then stopped stock still when Lex turned towards him and he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

There had been a time when he had no fear of facing death. But Chloe would seen wake, and for the first time in a long while there was a life to look forward to.

"Put it down."

Oliver slowly lowered the compound bow. Lex nudged the meteor rock with his feet, bringing it closer to Clark.

"They say meteor rock makes you vulnerable. I remember your impenetrable skin. Let's see how tough it is now."

The world seemed to slow before his eyes. Oliver saw clearly the bullet shoot out of the gun. He quickly reacted, and with Lex trained on Clark Oliver found it easy to pick up the bow and shoot a single titanium arrow towards Lex.

The arrow caught Lex in the shoulder. Shot to debilitate, not to kill. He carried enough in his conscience now. Besides, he owed the man his life for the cure. It did not mean he would stand on Clark's way when he decided to deal with lex as he saw fit. Oliver picked up the meteor rock and enclosed it in the contained. He was surprised to find Clark zip through the space and grasp Lex by his lapels and speed away.

Oliver threw a quick look where Clark had been, expecting to see the bullet flattened on the floor. Instead he found Hawkman crumpled on the floor. Oliver strode towards him and knelt before the older man. Carter gasped for his breath. Oliver pulled the mask away from his face.

"We need to get to a hospital."

The older man grimaced, and even in pain it seemed he found Oliver humorous. "You really are green if you think something like this—" His hand moved slightly to reveal the clean wound that pumped blood like a well. "—is something that can still be fixed."

"You haven't met the League's doctor."

"You have your own doctor." Carter chuckled. "You certainly don't do things the way we used to. I remember my wife closing up our wounds using the same needle she used to mend my torn pants."

Oliver saw the pallor on his face, recognized the blurred eyes as a sign of something else. "Why did you come here?" he asked. "This was my mission. I didn't ask for help," he reminded gently.

And to that, Carter repeated to him, the same question Oliver had asked those around him and himself a thousand times since the Kandorians nearly took her away, "What are you willing to do for love?" Carter swallowed deeply. His voice still held the same arrogant rasp that it always did. This time, Oliver did not mind so much. "I told you, kid, I understand what you're willing to do, but I know once you do it you would never be the same." The pretense was over, and Oliver could see the pain naked on his face. "So I decided I would do it for the girl, for the next generation of heroes that depend on her." And even at that time, even after sparring with him, even after the day he saved him, Carter still would not admit to a bit of affection for him. "So I took matters into my own hands, made sure if you abandoned your friend I could save you the guilt that would haunt you the rest of your life." That was the closest admission. "And if you decided you'd be the hero that you won't both die from the foolish way that you haven't been thinking."

He was judging him again, judging based on everything that he had experienced since his loss.

"What about you?" Oliver finally asked, because they both knew, and it seemed like Carter fully accepted it, that he would not be stepping out of Lex's warehouse alive.

And again, there was Carter's knowing smirk, as if he had no care in the world, as if this was what he had waited for the last decade. "A moment of rest upon the wind," he said quietly, grasping Oliver's hand, "and then another woman shall bear me." His brows furrowed together as he closed his eyes. "Just a little pain," he whispered, "and then I'm home with my wife." His lips relaxed. "I see her now." Carter rested his head back on the floor, and Oliver stayed by his side as his chest stilled.

"Oliver," he heard from the comm.

"What?" he whispered.

"She's waking up."

~o~o~o~

He stood defeated at the bottom of the steps, in the clothes he had worn to meet with Lex. The pants were dirtied and scuffed as he rolled and lunged. His shirt was stained with Carter's blood. Oliver released the bow from his hand and it clattered to the floor.

He had betrayed Clark, he realized. Oliver made his way up the stairs. He had made the decision in that very house that he was going to sacrifice the most powerful hero the world had ever known. He had walked down those steps fully intending to give up Clark. It had been a last minute change that he had reached for the bow and tried to save Clark. If Emil had not confirmed the cure he would have done everything that Lex asked for another chance.

Today Oliver lost the integrity of a hero.

Today Oliver Queen had coldly chosen that one life was above the good of the rest of the world.

His heart turned cold like ice, heavy like stone.

He stopped outside the bedroom door. He reached for the knob and saw the dark red stains on his skin from Carter's grip. And Oliver pushed the door open. The sunlight was blinding when it hit his eyes. He blinked, and his sight adjusted slowly and he saw the silhouette of her figure as she stood there.

He wondered if this was what Carter had seen when he closed his eyes.

Heaven. It was warm as honey as it closed over his icy heart.

Chloe turned around as she saw his reflection on the glass. When she saw him her eyes roamed over his body, and Oliver fought the urge to turn away at his shame. She walked closer to him, and Oliver tentatively raised a hand to touch the unmarred face.

"Clark?" she said softly.

"Carter," he answered. He had seen Clark's eyes before the man sped away with Lex, and he wondered when the time would come that he needed to tell Chloe not to expect her best friend in the near future.

She nodded, and Oliver released a silent prayer when her lips closed over his. "He's can be with Shayira now," she whispered to him, soothing the large wounds that now crisscrossed his insides. "I'm sorry you needed to do this, Oliver."

This was what he was willing to do. In the process, he lost himself. But she would find him again. She would. He had no doubt of that.

"You're alive," he murmured, like a prayer, like a chant, like it was the very utterance that would save him. She was back in his arms, and she was alive, breathing, cured.

Everything else could not matter. And despite that Oliver wondered how he would face the team to explain to them how they had lost Hawkman, how he would talk to Clark at the tailend of a betrayal, how he would take the mantle of a leader knowing that finally, the Green Arrow valued one life more than any one of theirs, one life more than all the world. Selfishness and humanity like that did not make for a credible leader of the Justice League.

"Let's run away."

He looked down at her intense, pleading green eyes, and knew she had seen him.

"Run away with me, Oliver. You promised we can run away," she repeated, giving him one way out, taking the burden from his shoulders.

"And everyone else?" he voiced, because that was him, and he needed to at least doubt his greatest desire. He was still the Green Arrow, and once the League began and ended with him.

"We'll be back when we're ready," she answered. When he was ready, in her words. She enfolded him in her embrace, and Oliver felt his the frozen shell around his heart splinter. "Please. We need it." He needed it.

"Tonight. One way trip straight down the road to Star City," Oliver agreed.

For weeks, or months, or years, there would be no betrayal to face, no guilt to bear, no team to mind, no grand missions to complete.

Just him, her, and the stars.

"_Their love was so strong they were bonded for all eternity. Lifetime and lifetime they were reborn to find their one true love only to lose each other in death again." – Carter to Lois, Hostage_

fin


End file.
